


(Day 6) Birthday

by mydwynter



Series: January Sherlock Vignette Challenge [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, January Sherlock Vignette Challenge, Mycroft is a shipper, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sherlock nearly dropped the slide when the door opened. It was 3am, and he was far from expecting someone to stroll into the lab at that hour.</i>
</p><p>Mycroft wasn't going to let the sixth of January pass without a little celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Day 6) Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> My mind rebels in stagnation. So every day for the month of January I'm posting a Sherlock vignette, born out of prompts from generators and friends alike, little pieces written quickly and posted, sketches made from words.
> 
> Today's prompt from [Moonblossom's Sherlock prompt generator](http://moonblossom.net/prompter/): Sherlock, Mycroft, fluff, Bart's, "burgers"
> 
> Thanks to Mazarin221B for the support, and Airynothing for the beta and the backup.

Sherlock nearly dropped the slide when the door opened. It was 3am, and wasn't expecting someone to join him the lab at that hour.

The scent of chip fat and cooked meat filled the room immediately. With that olfactory cue, combined with knowledge of the date, Sherlock knew who it was and what they were there for. He kept his eyes on his work and arranged his features into his most unimpressed of expressions.

"No food in a working lab, Mycroft," he said.

"Chlorophyll is not a dangerous compound, Sherlock."

"You're going to contaminate my evidence."

"Oh, nonsense." Mycroft ignored him and half-sat on the lab table to watch, an amused look on his face. "I suppose you thought you could avoid this by hiding."

"If I admit I was wrong, will you go away?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Go wash."

"You're disgustingly cheery, Mycroft. Is it the thought of placing me in unendurable torment while you celebrate the fact that I am one year older and have not yet managed to get myself killed? Or perhaps it's just the fact that in mere moments you’ll be allowing yourself the ecstasy of a guiltless meal?"

"The chiding never works, Sherlock," Mycroft said, unpacking a feast of cholesterol and carbohydrates. "You'll want to watch what you say, or I won't give you your milkshake. I got you chocolate cherry this year."

Sherlock caught himself staring at the paper cup with the corner of his vision then wrenched his gaze forward. He traded out one slide for another.

"It's Sunday," Mycroft said calmly. "You _must_ be famished. You haven't eaten since Thursday."

Sherlock grunted. True, he was starving. And Mycroft always knew how to pluck on the threads of nostalgia.

"Sherlock, there's no need to be childish. No one need see. Come have your birthday meal."

Sherlock was about to prod obstinately at the green and flagellated thing under the microscope, but he slumped in defeat.

"I won't tell a soul," Mycroft said.

Sherlock didn't move. "Truce," he said sullenly.

"You don't need a truce with me."

" _Truce_."

"Yes, yes," Mycroft assured him with heavy forbearance. "For an hour, then. Truce."

Sherlock deliberated for a few seconds, then gave in. He washed his hands, hopped up to sit on the lab desk next to the bag, and pulled out two paper-wrapped burgers. He handed one to his brother. They silently exchanged toppings to their mutual satisfaction before eating.

“See?” Mycroft said. “Isn’t this better?”

Sherlock chewed, unable to admit anything.

“Celebrating, versus not?”

Sherlock ignored him.

“I’m only sorry John isn’t here to celebrate with us.”

At that, Sherlock stopped eating and shot Mycroft a look. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him.”

“Why?” Mycroft quirked a brow at him. “You don’t want him to know?”

“He’ll _fuss_ ,” Sherlock said. “It’s…embarrassing.”

They ate for nearly a full minute before Mycroft spoke, blithely waving around a chip. “I suspect, Sherlock, that by next year you’ll have changed your tune. If things continue the way they trend, celebrating your birthday celebrations with John will bring you pleasure.”

Sherlock peered at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Mycroft said, smirking behind his milkshake. “Nothing, Sherlock. I don’t mean anything at all.”


End file.
